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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24075823">get it all back (put it back together)</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/alexfayerose/pseuds/alexfayerose'>alexfayerose</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Fall Out Boy, My Chemical Romance</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, But It Isn't Unrequited, Fluff, M/M, Mania, Pete Isn't Over 2005, Possible smut, Summer of Like, Unrequited Love, petekey</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-05-08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-05-11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-02 20:36:24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>6,244</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24075823</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/alexfayerose/pseuds/alexfayerose</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>MANIA has come out. Mikey has listened to it.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Mikey Way/Pete Wentz</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>48</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. as if the time had never passed</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The thing about it is, Pete wouldn’t have released half the songs on MANIA had they not been pressed for it. He’s over the whole of it, really, he tells himself that, tells Patrick that, every single day, and it’s beyond the time that he should have stopped writing songs about that summer. Most of these are things from 2006, refurbished to fit an album twelve years later, and they were just so pressed for time that it’s all Pete can do to fill out the album. He tells Patrick that it’s just easier that way, to scan old notebooks from the early 2000’s to work into songs all these years later, it doesn’t <em>mean </em>anything. Judging from the sympathetic look that borders right on the edge of vaguely annoyed, Patrick doesn’t believe him any more than Pete’s internal monologue believes him.</p><p>Fans start to put it together almost immediately after the album comes out, and it’s probably most notable in Bishop’s Knife Trick, but that’s not the only song. Pete can’t help but scan the internet for the theories, and it’s disappointing how well they have him pegged. They get it. He’s not subtle. Someone on Tumblr says something along the lines of “Pete Wentz wouldn’t know subtlety if it hit him in the face with his own bass,” and, while he’s offended by that statement, he also can’t argue the validity. It’s 2018, after all, and he’s still putting songs about Mikey Way out into the world. It would be easier to doubt if he hadn’t put the lyric “I’m sorry every song’s about you” in one song three years ago. He hadn’t been lying.</p><p>The saving grace for Pete, at least, is that Mikey seems to ignore it. Probably more conveniently for Pete, so does Gerard, who could make it more of a problem than he has. Aside from one text message back in 2015 when Fourth of July came out that simply said, “Still?” from Gerard, both have left it alone. Pete hadn’t answered that text, but it’s still in his phone, the last communication he’s had with Gerard Way. Maybe there’s a problem there somewhere. He doesn’t think about it.</p><p>They’re touring MANIA now, and when half the album is what it is, and half of their songs before that, too, it gets Pete thinking. Not that he’s ever really stopped thinking, even when he’s into a bottle and it’s starting to hit hard. Maybe he thinks even more then, he just doesn’t remember. It leaves him with a lot of time to think things through, because for the most part, the guys leave him alone. He doesn’t know if he appreciates or hates that. They’re playing in LA tonight, which is bound to be a good show because LA always is, but Pete’s not felt less like being on stage since before the hiatus, which doesn’t fare well for where his mind is.</p><p>“You good?” It’s Patrick speaking, from the other side of the backstage area. He’s got his guitar in his hands and he’s tuning absentmindedly, like he doesn’t have to think about it. He probably doesn’t. Patrick’s a genius. It registers in Pete’s mind that he should probably be tuning his own instrument, too, but he continues staring at the case and doesn’t move. He’ll get to it. Eventually.</p><p>“I’m good,” he lies, which is pointless, because Patrick can basically read his mind at this point and knows that he’s not good. Either he’ll leave it alone or he won’t, it depends on what mood he’s in. Pete looks up to meet his gaze and does his best to convey <em>please leave it alone </em>with just his expression. It’s like cryptophasia, Pete’s always said, like they have this language that’s just the two of them. Thankfully, Patrick understands well enough and doesn’t press on Pete’s less than stellar mood.</p><p>“Right, well. I invited someone tonight. He just showed up and I think you should go talk to him.”</p><p>It takes Pete less than three seconds to understand what he’s talking about, and he suddenly wishes Patrick had chosen to just press him about his mood, instead. What he’s actually done is worse, infinitely worse, like forgoing a prostate exam to jump headfirst into the apocalypse. And he’s not being overdramatic. “Patrick, you didn’t—”</p><p>“Like I said, he’s here,” Patrick interrupts, and Pete, not for the first time since Fall Out Boy started, wonders if he could get away with murdering their vocalist. He only entertains the thought for half a second before remembering that he couldn’t live without Patrick, but that half a second is enough to give him a small shot of serotonin.</p><p>Serotonin that fades almost instantly because Pete doesn’t have to go searching for their mystery guest. Their mystery guest has invited himself backstage and found Pete with no effort, because this had been sprung on Pete so suddenly, he hadn’t had time to hide. He looks the same as always, but different, never the same person as the last time Pete saw him. Always a slightly new shade of unfamiliar, and tonight is no exception, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t still look like Mikey.  It’s in the eyes.</p><p>Pete finds that he only believes in time travel when Mikey Way is around. Every time they’re in the same room again, after however many months or years since the last time, Pete finds himself back in 2005. It’s not the best time travel, it only takes him to that one period, that one summer, but he always goes back. Sticky, humid days, cooler nights under the stars, water parks and fireworks, sweat slick bodies and fumbling hands. He remembers it in vivid detail, hates that he hasn’t forgotten a night of that summer, hates even more that Mikey’s probably forgotten it all.</p><p>“Hi,” is all Mikey says, quiet and simple, and his mouth still shifts around the word like it always has. It still sparks the same warmth in Pete that it always has. Pete hates it, hates it with the same passion he’s only reserved for black licorice and Donald Trump.</p><p>“You’re here,” Pete replies, pushing up from where he’s been sitting on an amp that probably needs to be moved out onto the stage, anyway. “Why?”</p><p>It sounds rude. Pete is aware that it sounds rude. It’s just that they haven’t even really talked since American Beauty/American Psycho came out, except in Twitter conversations. And even those conversations haven’t been much, just simple happy birthdays and light-hearted jokes, like even those things don’t poke into Pete’s heart like needlepoint. There’s nothing in him that wants to sound polite, and he can’t school his voice enough to pretend.</p><p>“I listened to MANIA,” Mikey answers.</p><p>Oh. Oh. This conversation that they haven’t had, Mikey is choosing now to have it. The songs, what they mean. Pete could formulate an excuse (<em>well, I wrote those songs years ago, it doesn’t matter</em>) and brush it aside, but he’s tired. He’s never felt so exhausted. “What did you think?” he asks, as if he actually wants to know the answer.</p><p>Mikey pushes his hands into his jean’s pockets and steps closer to where Pete is standing, feeling small and awkward and vaguely like a teenager in trouble with his dad all over again. He’s damn near forty years old, a summer fling shouldn’t still be making him feel like this, and yet, here they stand. “It’s great, of course it is. You keep getting better.”</p><p>“Debatable. Say what you want to say, Mikey, you’re not here to compliment me.”</p><p>He could at least have the decency to look ashamed, Pete thinks, but he doesn’t. Mikey’s expression doesn’t waver. “It’s been over a decade, Pete,” he says amicably. It’s not mean. It’s sympathetic, which is almost worse. Pete doesn’t need, doesn’t want sympathy. It grates on his nerves like sandpaper. “It was three months.”</p><p>Pete’s teeth grit almost without his consent. “To you,” he responds blankly. “Don’t try to tell me what those three months did or didn’t mean to me, just because they didn’t mean that to you.” He doesn’t want to fight, and he’s due on stage in—well, he’s honestly not even keeping track of time. They have a show soon, he has to be ready to be <em>Pete Wentz from Fall Out Boy,</em> which is an increasingly hard thing to be. Fuck anyone who says he’s not a good actor, he’s been playing a part his whole life. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry every song’s about you,” he says, and he almost laughs, because the quote is from another song Mikey probably hates, but it’s still true.</p><p>“You don’t know what that summer meant to me, Pete,” Mikey replies, sounding exhausted, and Pete notes the lines around his eyes. Time has passed. He wishes it hadn’t. Mikey approaches him, and Pete fights the urge to shrink back because he’s not a coward and he’s not scared of anything but his own feelings. One of those things you can’t run from no matter how hard you try. Mikey’s always been tall, but now he’s got muscle where there wasn’t before, and he makes Pete feel incomparably small, like Pete hasn’t been working out, too.</p><p>“I know what it means to you now,” Pete says evenly. It feels like swallowing razorblades. Mikey looks to his left, seems to take great interest in the amp next to them. “Did you come here to tell me to stop writing the songs? It feels like that’s something you could have said over text.”</p><p>“I came to see if you’re okay.”</p><p>Pete can’t help that he laughs. Mikey looks up, eyes bewildered and sad. It’s not a laugh, not really. It’s low and derisive and angry, things that laughter shouldn’t be. Pete doesn’t want Mikey’s pity, would prefer if Mikey had come to fight. Pete can do anger, he can do resentment and bitterness. He can’t handle the pity.</p><p>“I’m fine,” he counters quietly, turning to where the case of his bass is. He opens the clasps, pushing the lid open and pulling his bass out. It’s just something to do with his hands, and he has to get ready for the show, anyway. “Nothing to worry about. It was a decade ago, right?”</p><p>Mikey is silent. That’s worse than if he had something to say. He knows that Pete is lying, but he doesn’t call him out on it. He just watches Pete with an unreadable expression. Pete thinks it’s something like sympathy, or condolence. Pete sneers and twists the tuning knob on his bass, watching his fingers instead of looking at Mikey.</p><p>“Hey, Pete?” Mikey begins, and his tone is calm, doesn’t suggest a hint of the emotion still resting behind his eyes. Pete looks up to meet his gaze and show that he’s listening. His eyes are dark, but there’s a golden hue in them and Pete’s never hated the color gold more. “Do you still go into the crowd for Saturday?”</p><p>Pete frowns. He doesn’t know where this is going. “Yeah,” he answers. “Sometimes. The fans think it’s fun. At least, I take the microphone and go shake hands.” Mikey nods slowly, chewing on his lower lip for a moment, and Pete doesn’t want to start thinking about Mikey’s lips right now, or his mind is going to go somewhere filthy. “Why?” Pete presses when Mikey doesn’t continue.</p><p>“I can still play Saturday,” Mikey informs him, motioning vaguely to the bass Pete is holding. Pete relaxes his grip on the neck, unaware that he had tightened it so much. His knuckles ache a little, and he flexes his fingers reflexively. “If that’s information that you find useful.”</p><p>Pete blinks and takes a deep breath. It is information that he finds useful. Exhaling slowly, he nods. “Good to know.” It’s an extension of an olive branch, and Mikey’s leaving it in Pete’s court. It’s up to Pete what he’s going to do with it, and that’s a kind of power Pete doesn’t really want to have, because what he’s thinking probably isn’t what Mikey’s offering. Still, it’s an offering, and that’s a start. He’ll see what happens after that.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. i know i should walk away</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Pete doesn’t think it’s an accident that Fourth of July ended up on the setlist. It’s more than likely Patrick’s doing, and yeah, Pete has to okay the setlists, too, but at the time that he’d signed off on it, he hadn’t known Mikey would actually be there, standing side stage and watching them. Of course, he has no solid proof that Patrick had known at the time that Mikey would be there either, maybe he hadn’t even asked Mikey to come until after the setlist was made, but Pete finds that to be a highly unlikely option. Patrick’s an evil genius. The angel persona he displays to the public is all a facade. Hell, he’d probably have tried to put Bang the Doldrums on the set had Pete not adamantly vetoed that song from the beginning.</p><p>“This is one of my favorite songs we’ve released,” Pete says into the microphone, and it feels like Mikey’s gaze is burning holes into his skin. He can’t look to the right, where Mikey is standing, can’t risk meeting his gaze, because Mikey has a habit of gazing right into his soul and seeing all the things that Pete tries to hide. Pete hates that, hates anyone knowing him that well, even when he regularly lays his soul bare for the public to see and gives his most heart-wrenching secrets to another person to sing every night. “It’s called Fourth of July and it goes like this.”</p><p>Usually, he’d probably have more to say about this song, he’d have an intro, but he can’t be bothered tonight. It’s already too much. And it’s not even like this will be the first time Mikey’s seen them play it live, but that last time, he hadn’t been standing right there, right where Pete could reach him if he tried. Last time, Mikey had been touring with another band and had probably been too busy to care that they were playing this song, had too many other things to focus on. They’re too in each other’s space now, too personal, even with the distance between them. The start of the song makes the distance feel even smaller, makes the audience fade away into nothingness, and Pete thinks that the stage could swallow him whole right now and he wouldn’t fight it too hard.</p><p>He tries very hard to keep his eyes on his fingers, on the neck of his bass, on the stage lights in front of him, on anything that isn’t Mikey Way standing in the shadowed corners, and for the most part, he manages it. He plays the song primarily on muscle memory because his brain doesn’t process what it is that he’s doing, but they get to that one line, and he can’t help himself. <em>I’m sorry every song’s about you,</em> Patrick croons next to Pete, singing Pete’s words like he always has, and Pete’s eyes meet Mikey’s.</p><p>There might be changes now, age lines and muscles that weren’t there ten years ago, gray hairs and the stained-glass effect that exhaustion has on eyes, but he’s still Mikey. A signature tilt of his head, slight and inquisitive, like he knows Pete better than Pete knows himself, like he’s cracked Pete’s brain open and has picked out everything he wants to, that’s exactly the same as it was in the summer of 2005. Everything’s changed, but nothing has, and Pete steps up onto the step and watches the blurred faces in the crowd. The crowds are bigger now, louder, more intense, and Pete’s never felt quite so small.</p><p>“You know, when I wrote that song, it was originally ‘Don’t tell me you cried,’ and then it went to ‘don’t tell me you tried’, before we settled on ‘don’t tell me you’re fine’,” Pete says as the song fades out, and he’s looking at Patrick, who is taking a drink from a bottle of water and meeting his gaze. Patrick knows that, yeah, he’d been there through the writing process, and Pete isn’t sure who the information is for. Not the audience, certainly, maybe not even for Mikey. Maybe he just wants it out in the open. The world can dissect it as they will.</p><p>“Yeah, you changing lyrics like that is the reason I mix lines up so often,” Patrick replies with a roll of his eyes and a sympathetic smile, and Pete laughs, because that’s what he’s supposed to do. They’re laughing, too. Everything is fine. It does ease some of the numbness Pete’s felt most of the show, lets him really feel the warmth that comes with playing shows like this. Patrick has gotten better at putting on a show in the past years, and that takes some of the burden off of Pete’s shoulders. They all enjoy it more now.</p><p>It offers a perfect segue into the last song of the set, anyway, which Pete is grateful for. “You never mess up this one, though,” he says as he slides the bass strap off his shoulder and glances side stage. It’s about that time, and he doesn’t know if he’s feeling anticipation or the need to vomit; possibly both. As long as he doesn’t throw up into the audience, it’ll be fine. “This is the last song for tonight, but we’ve got a special guest that decided he wanted to come show me up on bass, like he’s done for years.” He catches Mikey’s smile, soft and fond, and the little shake of his head, like he disagrees. They both know Mikey’s better, he’s just modest. “Welcome to the stage my favorite sweet little dude, Mikey Way.”</p><p>The audience loses it, and Pete doesn’t want to smile at the way Mikey shuffles onto the stage and raises a hand in an awkward wave. Some things really never change, and Mikey’s just as awkward in front of a crowd now as he was ten years ago. It’s charming and endearing, it’s part of why fans love him so much, probably part of why Pete loves him so much, too. Loved. Past tense. He extends the bass to offer it to Mikey, and, as Mikey takes it, Pete pulls him into a hug.</p><p>He wants to say that it’s for the benefit of the audience, what they’d be expected to do, and it’ll be all over the internet in five minutes, everyone’s already taking pictures, but it’s not for them at all. Mikey may be broader and filled out now, but he feels the same when Pete wraps his arms around him. He still holds himself like he’s not sure what to do with the sheer length of his body, still rests his hand with a gentle touch right under the curve of Pete’s shoulder blades. He still wears the same cologne, too, and Pete has to break the hug and step away before he makes it awkward by inhaling deeply and memorizing that smell all over again. It’s already there in his brain, stored in the same box with the way Mikey sounds when Pete kisses that one spot on his neck, like he shouldn’t have forgotten all of that ten years ago.</p><p>The worst of it is that Pete forgets where they’ve left off on things, forgets that things aren’t like they were back then. It’s so easy to forget, when Mikey’s back on stage playing with them like he’d done a few times that summer, when Pete’s losing himself in the music and enjoying himself like he hasn’t in months. It’s easy to forget, and it’s abrupt and sharp when he remembers. It’s pathetic and obsessive, and Pete would hate anyone focused on him the way he focuses on Mikey, but he’s himself, so he’s doing it anyway. He recognizes the hypocritical aspect of it all, recognizes that Mikey could—and probably should—hate him, but he’s here anyway, performing with them and smiling at Pete like the time hadn’t passed.</p><p>The show ends and the illusion shatters and suddenly Pete and Mikey are face to face backstage. Looking at him makes Pete think that someone had taken the sunlight and somehow pushed it all into Mikey Way, lighting him from within with a brightness and a warmth and an unreplicated fire, but he’s romanticizing things like he always does. Joe offers Mikey a beer, and he waves a hand.</p><p>“Sober,” he explains, and Pete grabs them both a bottle of water. He remembers hearing about Mikey overdosing, feels the same ice in his veins that he felt that day, and shakes it away. Time passing isn’t always a bad thing.</p><p>“Stop being better at my own songs than I am or my band is going to replace me,” Pete says to ease the tension that lingers between them, and Mikey laughs, and for a moment, that’s better. He’s only about fifty percent sure that Fall Out Boy wouldn’t replace him, and it’s not for his bass skills. “It’s like you never left the stage,” he continues, moving to lean against the wall next to where Mikey’s standing. There’s barely a distance between them now, and this close, Pete can count the different shades in his eyes. If he’s not careful, he’s going to do something stupid, and he’s never careful.</p><p>“It was one song, and I may have been practicing it," Mikey shrugs, opening the water bottle and taking a drink. Pete doesn’t want to read into why, so he carefully compartmentalizes that new bit of information. “I played Infinity on High the other day, for the first time in years, and then I fell into the spiral and listened to all of the albums.”</p><p>Pete feels hot and cold all over, but he fixes his face into a neutral expression. “I’m sure the ego boost of having all those songs about you was nice,” he replies slowly, and Mikey fixes him with a <em>look</em>. It’s a pretty common look, though Pete is more used to getting it from Gerard. They look a lot alike when they’re annoyed at Pete, or when they think he’s being particularly stupid for whatever reason.</p><p>“That’s not why I listen to them. I still think about that summer, too.”</p><p>“Can we not talk about this so publicly?” Pete says flatly, without any implication that the statement is a question. He’s not asking. He doesn’t want to talk about this, not where his band can listen in. Not ever.</p><p>“Sure,” Mikey responds bluntly. “Your place or mine?”</p><p>Pete’s brain flatlines for half a second before kickstarting with a fury. How easy it is to overthink that simple statement, even though he knows Mikey isn’t thinking about a quickie they’ll both be ashamed of later. Pete watches too many romance movies, but even he knows that they’re not just going to go to his place and fall back into bed together and then have heartfelt confessions of how neither of them is over it and they both want to give this another try, for real this time. It’s wishful thinking.</p><p>“I think I’m better not having this conversation at all,” Pete replies. It comes out more feebly than he’d have liked it to.</p><p>“Considering you never exactly asked my permission to keep writing songs about me, I’m not asking yours right now.”</p><p>It hits like a slap in the face, especially considering Mikey’s expression doesn’t waver. He doesn’t even sound angry, just pointed and focused. Mikey’s mastered being to the point and neutral at all times, even when he doesn’t feel necessarily neutral about whatever the topic is. Pete’s never been able to be that impartial.</p><p>“If you want me to stop writing the songs—” Pete begins, but Mikey cuts him off with a raised hand. Agitated, Pete falls silent, hands curling into fists at his side. Were he still ten years younger, he’d probably have already punched a wall by now. That used to be his go to response. He’s calmed somewhat, but this situation has spiraled out of his control. He already knows that Mikey’s rejected him, he doesn’t need to hear it spoken out loud.</p><p>“I just want to talk to you.”</p><p>“Why now? Like you pointed out, it’s been ten years. Longer than that, even.”</p><p>“I wasn’t exactly in a good place to talk about anything until now,” Mikey points out, and it’s really not fair that he sounds so calm, or that his responses make as much sense as they do. He’s got Pete in the logic department, Pete can’t even argue with that. Mikey’s finally gotten sober, finally gotten himself into a better place, where he can face Pete’s feelings and tell him that he’s flattered, but it’s not going to happen. Pete inhales deeply, and then exhales slowly, and steels his nerves for the conversation he’s never wanted to have.</p><p>“Mine, then,” he answers, and Mikey flashes a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. They turn to leave the venue together, and Pete has to pretend that he doesn’t see Patrick and Andy watching them with eagle-sharp gazes, ready to predict what’s going to happen next.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. i just want to let you break my brain</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>As far as Pete can remember, Mikey has never been in his house. Pete’s been to Mikey’s, but only once or twice, hanging out after a show or something. Most of the time, when they spent time together, it was on a tour bus or at a bar after a show, which they wouldn’t be doing now, considering Mikey’s sober and Pete isn’t about to push that. He’s happy that Mikey’s sober now, happy that he’s better, and he doesn’t want to be any part of a backward spiral, considering how long it took him to recover and the depths his problems had gotten to before he got better. He wonders if Mikey has the same thoughts about Pete’s own mental health, but he feels bad for even thinking about that. It's not Mikey's job to worry about Pete's mental health.</p><p>“Is Bronx…” Mikey begins as they step into the house, pushing his jacket off. Mikey’s met Bronx a few times, though it was all when Bronx was still pretty young, barely a toddler, and the kid probably doesn’t remember it. Mikey had seemed to like him enough, but it doesn’t really matter now. Pete’s never expected Mikey and Bronx to spend a whole lot of time together, with their lives being what they are.</p><p>“With Ashlee,” Pete answers, confirming that they’re in the house alone. He takes Mikey’s jacket and hangs it up alongside his own on a rack next to the door. He feels awkward and uncomfortable, not just because of Mikey, but because he registers this being the first time that they’ve been alone together since the summer of 2005. He could use a drink, he thinks, but he has enough self-restraint to not immediately break out a bottle of whiskey and drink the entire thing. “We don’t have to do the small talk thing.”</p><p>“Why are you so insistent on me only being here to tell you to fuck off?” Mikey protests, the set of his jaw giving the impression that he’s annoyed. For the most part, his expression hasn’t changed, but Pete knows him well enough to see the way his jaw has tightened. He's still the master of neutral expressions and being primarily emotionless. “I’m not here because I’m mad, I’m not here because I hate the songs, I’m not here to tell you that I hate you. I wanted to see you, that’s why I came to the show.”</p><p>Pete could just take that for what it is and not turn this into a fight. They’re friends, they’ve always been friends. They’d clicked instantaneously the day that they’d met, and they’ve always gotten along. That doesn’t have to change, they don’t have to stop being friends, and Pete could just take that and run with it. Friendship is better than nothing at all, even if it settles into his skin and wraps around his heart like barbed wire. He could just take what Mikey’s saying at his word, but as soon as he considers that option, he shuts it down. They have to address this sometime, they have to handle things. And by they, he means that he has to handle it. Ten years, longer than ten years, and he’s not over it, and he has to face that.</p><p>“You listen to the songs. You know what they’re about, you’re not dumb. What do you think when you hear them?” Pete asks, walking into the living room without glancing back to see if Mikey is following him. He asks the question, but he doesn’t really want to know the answer. He knows he needs to know the answer, needs to turn the page on this chapter that should be ten years closed by now.</p><p>“I think about Warped Tour,” Mikey responds quietly, slowly walking into the living room behind Pete and sitting down in an armchair, rather than joining Pete on the couch. Pete is grateful for that. He doesn’t think that closeness is a good idea right now, and it’s better if he can’t smell Mikey’s cologne or feel the heat of his body pressed up against Pete’s own. “I think about that whole summer, I think about you. And I think about how crazy it is that it still means so much to you, after all this time.”</p><p>Pete exhales, the sound sharp and abrupt. He’s not sure what answer he expected, but it wasn’t that. And he doesn’t know if he’s happy or not. He’s not sure what he’s supposed to think of it. It’s not a bad answer, Mikey isn’t saying that he gets angry about the songs, or that he gets angry over thinking about the summer of 2005. He’s not saying he resents it, or regrets it. He’s just saying that he thinks about it, and Pete, which shouldn’t sharpen the barbed wire around Pete’s heart the way it does.</p><p>“There’s a thin line between love and obsession, and I stumble to the wrong side of it every time,” Pete mutters, fingers curling against his leg, blunt nails scraping against the fabric of the pants he's wearing. Mikey snorts, and Pete glances up to see Mikey shaking his head slightly.</p><p>“That’s true,” he agrees, rubbing the back of his neck with a sigh. “That’s not the point, though. I was a different person in 2005, you don’t know how much I’ve changed since then. You write the songs, like… like you still have these feelings, you know, but I don’t know how you could. We don’t really know each other anymore, and that’s what I think about when I hear those albums and I hear the way you romanticize that summer, when you say all those things and make me out to be something that I wasn’t back then. I wasn’t even any good for you then, but you act like—”</p><p>“Like you were actually good for me?” Pete cuts in, raising an eyebrow, and Mikey looks at him. Mikey’s eyes are fractured and somewhat bare, more emotional than Pete’s seen him look, probably ever. “Mikey, I was happy in 2005. At least, in that summer. I’d come from that—that February, you know what happened.” Mikey flinches, actually flinches, like the words physically hurt him. He reacts to the incident in the Best Buy parking lot the same way Patrick does, and Pete feels bad for a second. He hates bringing it up, because he doesn’t like the reminder of it any more than they do. But they do know what happened. “Between that, and everything else that was happening then, I met you and…”</p><p>Pete has to trail off. It’s too sentimental, too stupid to talk about. He doesn’t talk about his feelings openly or publicly because it leaves him feeling vulnerable and weak. And he knows that having emotions isn’t a weak thing, but the way he still hurts over everything feels like a weakness. He’s struggling still, with how emotions don’t necessarily tie into strength, he’s been struggling with that for all of his life, and even at forty years old, he doesn’t know how to talk about his feelings. This is even harder for him to talk about because it was over ten years ago, and it shouldn’t still matter the way it does.</p><p>“Pete,” Mikey begins, moving from the armchair and hesitantly settling onto the couch beside Pete. He’s tall and warm and feels familiar, without even touching Pete, and Pete settles into it without thinking about it, exhaling a breath that he hadn’t intended to hold as long as he had. Mikey has had a settling presence on Pete for as long as they’ve known each other. It’s almost more terrifying than it is comforting; he shouldn’t be so affected by Mikey just being right there next to him.</p><p>“I was happier. Everyone noticed it, and then when it fell apart, I wasn’t. We’ve changed, you’re right, and I guess I don’t know you. Maybe I didn’t really know you back then, either, but we’ve been friends since then, and it didn’t just—go away, the way you wanted it to.”</p><p>“I didn’t want it to,” Mikey interrupts, and Pete looks at him abruptly, stunned into silence. Stunning Pete into silence isn’t an easy thing to do, and he’s sure Patrick would be impressed if he were here. He’s very glad Patrick isn’t around for a multitude of reasons.</p><p>“What?”</p><p>All of the power he has with words and lyrics, all the songs he’s written, the clever word play, and he can’t think of a damn thing to say other than that. Of all the things he had expected Mikey to say, and he clearly hadn’t expected Mikey to say anything good, that’s not any of it. Subconsciously, he’s fully anticipated Mikey rejecting him, hating him, walking out and never talking to him again, probably even prepared himself for that possibility, and he knows that that’s because he doesn’t predict anything good for himself, ever.</p><p>Mikey shrugs a shoulder, looking extremely uncomfortable. He’s never been any better at talking about his feelings than Pete has, so Pete knows that Mikey isn’t any more prepared for this conversation than he is. “I didn’t want you to… stop caring, or to just forget that summer. One of the lines you put in that song, that you’ve forgotten what summer meant to me, I wish I could show you what it meant to me. Time passed, I figured everything would change, and I didn’t know how to tell you that it hadn’t for me. And the more time passed, the more I felt like I couldn’t be honest about it. Add in the drugs and every other goddamn thing that happened… it felt like I just shouldn’t.”</p><p>For a minute, Pete can’t believe that he’s hearing the words he’s hearing. It feels like a fever dream, like something that he’s making up. His heart stops, and then kicks into overdrive. Things don’t go right for Pete, not like this, not usually. Love has never wanted to work for Pete, Pete’s always tried to force it anyway, and it’s always blown up in his face. It feels almost wrong to believe that it could be going right for him now. He’s hesitant to even ask if what he’s thinking Mikey is saying is accurate.</p><p>“You’re not saying that you still—”</p><p>“That I’m still in love with you?” Mikey intercedes with a strained laugh. Pete inhales sharply. Even in 2005, Mikey hadn’t said that he was in love with Pete. Not that Pete had ever said it, either. They’d been young and stupid with no idea what it meant to be in love, but Mikey’s saying it now, and Pete can’t breathe. “Yeah. I’m saying that.”</p><p>Silence falls between them for a long moment, where it feels like the tension could be cut with a fucking butter knife. It’s suffocating, but Pete doesn’t know how to break it. His brain isn’t working, his mind can’t formulate a single response. He can’t even find something charming or witty to say as a reply, something that might make Mikey laugh. In fact, he’s still having trouble believing that this hasn’t been some type of fever dream that Pete’s made up in his head. Maybe he passed out during the show and he’s actually in some type of coma. If that’s the truth, he’d really prefer he doesn’t wake up.</p><p>“Can I kiss you?” Mikey finally says, breaking that tension like glass shattering into pieces, and Pete chokes on thin air. And then he laughs, because okay. Yeah. He’s going to stop overthinking it, he’s going to, for once in his life, shut his fucking mouth and let things happen, and fuck whatever comes next. He leans in, presses their lips together firmly, and lets them fall together for the first time in just over ten years.</p><p>It is what it is, and fuck it. He’s going to dive in headfirst, come what may, and he’s just going to pray to a god that he doesn’t even believe in that it doesn’t blow up in his face and leave him in a world of regret.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I'm as over Petekey as Pete is. Leave a comment, tell me if you liked it. Tell me if you hated it.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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